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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29349912">The Death Upon Her Eyes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MurderInCrimson/pseuds/MurderInCrimson'>MurderInCrimson</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Character Death, Dark Stuff, Family, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Suicide, Trigger warning for suicide, alcohol use</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 13:48:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>17,817</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29349912</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MurderInCrimson/pseuds/MurderInCrimson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>(Based on a discarded plot point from the fan comic by Nado, "Will to Live," hosted on Tumblr. Yes. I have Nado's permission.)</p><p>Sometimes, life begins oddly. For example; after death. </p><p>One Emma Blanke, aged fourteen.<br/>Death: Suicide<br/>Sentence: To gain redemption for her sins, she will act as a Grim Reaper for the London Branch of the Grim Reaper Dispatch Society. </p><p>Trigger warnings for suicide, violence, depression, and other such dark things.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sebastian Michaelis/William T. Spears</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Scars</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/NadoHunter/gifts">NadoHunter</a>.</li>


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/758787">Will To Live</a> by Nado.
        </li>

    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
  <span>Monday. It had to be on a Monday, of all days--a bloody way to start a long week. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>William found himself called into the office of his director, which was something that never held anything good for him. Usually, at the least, he would have more paperwork piled upon him. At the worst, he would be forced to find a place for a new ‘recruit,’ which he </span>
  <em>
    <span>still </span>
  </em>
  <span>thought was a term used in poor taste. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Grim Reapers were not recruited. They committed suicide, and to punish them, they were forced to work toward redemption. Forever, perhaps--he had no idea if anyone had truly made it out of the rat race and into the heaven promised. For their inability to see the gift that life was, all Reapers were nearsighted--just as they were, in life, to act upon depression, a whim, or otherwise. Thinking on this, he pressed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>A nervous tick. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Outwardly, save for the touch of his gloved fingers to the rim of his spectacles, William remained calm and collected. Cold, if anyone would think of that when they saw him. He knew some of those working below him did. He turned the knob of his director’s door, pushing into the room with a soft sigh. “Sir--” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Spears,” the director said. He was breathless--which was William’s first hint that something was </span>
  <em>
    <span>dreadfully </span>
  </em>
  <span>wrong. The man was already standing, his tie slightly askew, which was the second hint. He looked, wildly, from William to a chair in the corner. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I came as soon as I received the communication,” William said smoothly. He closed the door behind him, glancing for a moment to the chair in the corner to see what had his director so spooked. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>William froze, a question upon his lips. There, framed in shadow, sat a young girl. A child, too young for the touch of womanhood to have graced her yet. Long, curly blonde hair hung loosely around her face and shoulders, a halo of gold. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <b>
    <em>‘A dirge for her the doubly dead in that she died so young.’</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>Startling, William fell back against the door. He stared, stupidly, at the young girl, mouth agape. “Wh-what is the meaning of this?” he finally managed to choke out. Panic began to rise up in the pit of his stomach, all electric and ripping. </span>
  <em>
    <span>A child? Here?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“No,” William whispered, realizing, with horror, what had to have happened. With a jolt, he knelt down in front of the girl. His hands were shaking, his body acting on instinct. “Why?” His voice was a whisper, a quiver, an earthquake. “Why would you--” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Only then did the girl look at him, peering at him through her new glasses. Eyes so green that they screamed of eternal spring, of neon life, of everything taken from her and given anew in death. Eyes like his own, like every single Reaper in existence. They were hollow, empty. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The director released a breath. “Spears--”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Why did you--”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Why did </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” the girl asked, turning William’s question back upon him with venom. Those eyes glared at him, into him, through him, pinning him in place until he found he could not breathe. “Why did </span>
  <em>
    <span>any</span>
  </em>
  <span> of us?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>As though slapped, William pulled back. He was reeling, his mind rushing in one thousand and one different directions. When he regained himself, he was leaning back against the director’s desk. The two men looked at each other, wearing similar expressions. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“She arrived this morning, just an hour ago,” the director finally managed to eek out, his bottom lip trembling. “I will have her file delivered to your office--”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Excuse me?” William whispered. He stared at the director, eyes huge in his head. “What are you saying, sir--”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>With a deep breath, pulling himself together, the other man nodded curtly. “She is a Reaper now, William, whether we like it or not. Just like the rest of us, she will work for her redemption.” He swallowed. “According to her file, she is a prime candidate for retrieval--” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>It was rare for William to be so shaken. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, smashing them against his face. They would not go any higher. His gloved hand was shaking, just so. “No.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Spears--”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I said, no. She is a child--”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“She is a Reaper.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I am right here, and I am able to hear everything both of you are saying,” the girl spoke up, the venom in her voice again. She stood from the chair she had been occupying, lips pulled into a deep frown. “I am no child, either.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>William snapped to look at her. “How old are you, then?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The girl tsked. “I am fourteen, as of yesterday, though I suppose that doesn’t matter much now, does it?” She crossed her arms over her slim chest, turning away from the two men. “My name is Emma Blanke, thank you kindly for asking. This is not what I thought would happen--”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“It never is,” William said quietly, quickly. Cleanly. Efficiently. He sighed into his hand. “Very well, Miss Blanke.” He glanced at the director for a moment over the top of his glasses. “I take it she is under my watch?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>With a slight nod, the director tightened his tie again. “Indeed, Mr. Spears. I expect you to treat Miss Blanke as you would any other employee. She will work toward redemption, just as any other Reaper does. That is all. You are both dismissed.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>William bowed his head, just so, then straightened. “Miss Blanke, if you would follow me.” He held open the door for her, eyes closed as her small form passed in front of him, out into the hallway. Once they were both outside of the director’s office, he shut the door none too gently. “Miss Blanke--” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You haven’t told me your name, though I am to assume it is William Spears?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“William T. Spears, yes.” He took a breath, a moment, to collect himself. She was an employee, a Reaper. She was just the same as anyone else in the office, honestly. Glasses, green eyes, and suicide. All things that tied them together, here, in their purgatory. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He silently wondered if it was Hell, truly, and this was part of his punishment for turning against the light of God. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The girl--Emma--lingered in the hallway for a moment before following after William. She looked around, slightly wide-eyed, at the cubicles and offices on either side of the corridor. There were flashes of other people, all adults, as they went about their jobs, their after-lives. None of them looked happy, or pleased, or anything. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>They were all blank. Like her. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Lifeless. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>She looked to her wrists, the pad of her now gloved thumb running over the slender, angry scars there. It was hard to think that, just hours ago, they were fresh wounds, gushing blood. Gushing out her life, her future.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>She squeezed her eyes shut and stifled a small cry. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Are you--hm.” William paused to look down at the child. The verge of tears. He had seen it before, and would again, countless times. Yet, she was so fresh, so...</span>
  <em>
    <span>young.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Of course she was not alright, as he was about to ask. She had ended her life, for whatever reason, and now she would be forced to work toward redemption by reaping the souls of the dead--of those who had lived out their lives properly. Those who would be rewarded with heaven, with eternal rest. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>This was Hell, surely. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Still. There was a pain in his chest, now, seeing her so close to weeping. Awkwardly, he knelt before her, gently taking her small hand into his own. He spotted the scars upon her wrists, soft and slender and pale against her skin. “You will wear these, as a reminder,” he said softly. “We all do.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Why?” Emma whispered. She looked at him, those venomous, spring green eyes gleaming with unshed tears. “Why must we be punished for this? I wanted a way out. I wanted to sleep, to rest. Why--why can’t I have death?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Because we are damned,” William said. He could feel dozens of eyes upon him; the eyes of his coworkers, of his fellow Reapers. All of them had been alive, once. All of them had thrown away a chance at happiness, a chance of eternal joy and slumber, because they could not see the light at the end of the tunnel. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Because they were too nearsighted to see the beauty of life, of living out one’s years until a natural death, a proper death. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Because, because, because. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I was damned before I cut my wrists, Mr. Spears.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“...we all were.” He took to his feet then, unable to look into her eyes. Her eyes, dead, that mirrored his own. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Dreamers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A/N: The bold texts are quotes from Edgar Allan Poe's "A Dream Within A Dream." Each chapter is going to have some sort of something having do with Poe poetry or quotes there otherwise. </p><p>*shrugs*</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
  <span>The day was clean and clear. Rarely, if ever, did it rain in the Reaper’s Realm; it seemed that it only offered some water when the short-cut grass needed it, or when the scant few flowers desired a sip. Otherwise, the skies remained a dull blue until nighttime. Then it turned an equally dull black, without stars. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The sun pooled into William’s office through his single window. Despite the chill in the air, he had this opened. It was always open, true be told, but Emma did not know that yet. She just assumed that he preferred colder weather. He certainly was a chilly man, she thought. She sat in the chair facing away from the window, so it was at her back. Despite the wind, the cold, she found that she was oddly comfortable. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Being dead was </span>
  <em>
    <span>peculiar. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
  <span>No part of her had thought that, by slitting her slender wrists, she would end up in a place such as this. No. She had assumed that she would be thrust into Hell, or maybe Heaven, as she considered herself a good person. As good a person as a freshly-turned fourteen year old girl in England could be, that was. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Well. Mostly.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
  <span>As she sat and pondered her current fate, William smoothly read over her file. It was short and quick; as he expected of someone so young. A frown passed over his features as he read about her life before committing suicide. About the things she had gone through, her history, her demise. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He wanted to vomit. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>William thought that he had seen everything. Heard everything. He had witnessed horrors that no human should ever see. He had experienced terrible things; he had </span>
  <em>
    <span>done</span>
  </em>
  <span> terrible things, all for the sake of earning his redemption. The things that had been done to Emma, however, made his already pale skin blanch further. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>No child should have gone through what she had. No child should have had to have dealt with the thoughts in her head, with the impulses, with the illness of her mind. He knew humanity was working toward understanding the human brain, but it would be a long way off. Far too far off to have saved Emma from her fate. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>How cruel the world could be. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Shuddering, William lowered the paperwork. He looked over the edges of the pages to the young girl. She was busily picking at the hem of her vest, a slight frown on her lips. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Sensing him, she glanced up. They locked eyes. He looked away first. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“As much as I hate to admit it, the director is correct. You would make a decent, if not excellent, Reaper within my department. You will undergo training, starting tomorrow. I will pair you with a mentor.” William huffed out a sigh. “Honestly. We are dreadfully understaffed at the moment. Sending someone to show you your work is going to lessen their ability to perform.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Emma turned her glance into a spiteful glare. “Ah. Well. I do apologize then, Mr. Spears, for killing myself off at such an </span>
  <em>
    <span>inappropriate time. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Please, allow me to come back later. Oh.” She lifted her hands, pulling up on her gloves to show the slit scars on her wrists. “Seems that I can’t. Oh, bother.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Do not take that tone with me--”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Or what, Mr. Spears? You’ll punish me?” Emma snorted. She leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms over her chest. “Seems a bit too late for that.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He pushed his glasses up his nose, one eyebrow twitching just enough to offer movement. “There is no need to be so flippant, Miss Blanke. I am simply doing my job--and you would do well to do yours now, as well.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Well, then. I quit.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>At that, William stood up. He slammed his hands on the desk separating the two of them, anger burning in his dead eyes. She stood up, matching his movements, his position. They stared at each other, glaring, wordlessly, for no less than a full minute. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He would not be the first to look away this time. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Emma opened her mouth, but William cut her off quickly, crisply. “You are a Grim Reaper now. This is your punishment for taking your own life--for throwing away the </span>
  <em>
    <span>gift</span>
  </em>
  <span> you were given. To ‘quit’ is to forfeit your chance at redemption, at Heaven itself--for the death you were looking for when you drew the knife across your radial arteries after ingesting two bottles of wine.” He watched her slowly sink into the chair, her eyes wide now. He sucked in a careful breath. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Deflated, the girl put her head in her hands. “...I had to.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You...you</span>
  <em>
    <span> felt</span>
  </em>
  <span> you had to. You did not have to. You could have seeked some kind of help.” William released his breath, taking to his chair again. He paused, hand ready to push up his glasses. He clenched it into a fist for a moment, then calmly set it in his lap. He was shaking, just so. To show the girl that would be a weakness--and he had already shown far too much of that this morning. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>No matter how young she was, she was a Grim Reaper now. He had to remind himself that, over and over, until it sunk in. This was her fate, her job. Her doom. To be gentle to her now would be to do her a disservice. She needed a firm hand if she was going to make it out of here with her soul intact. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>His thoughts were brought up short when she asked, voice shaking, “How did you end up here?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Dry. His mouth was dry. His tongue felt like sand in his mouth; his teeth felt like bleached animal skulls. Shivering, he took a moment to put her paperwork into his desk, to be properly filed later. “That is a question we generally do not ask around here,” he finally managed, wishing for water. Or whiskey, honestly. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>‘And I hold within my hand</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Grains of the golden sand --</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>How few! yet how they creep</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Through my fingers to the deep…’</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“So you’re allowed to know, but no one else?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“If your coworkers trust you enough to tell you, then perhaps they will. It is, however, rude to ask.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“...but you asked me, earlier, in the hallway.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Still dry, cracking. “In all honesty, Miss Blanke, you are the first Reaper within this division of your age. At least, you are since I have been here.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“And how long is that?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>William frowned, checking the small calendar on his desk. He flipped it to the human world’s date. “Ah. Two hundred years, give or take.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Emma startled, her eyes huge when she looked up at him. “Two hundred years? But you said people around here get redeemed, or whatever. You’ve been here that long and you’ve not gone away yet?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Crumbling, now, sand falling into the cracks of time and space. “I have not yet earned my redemption. It is something that I hope to achieve.” He failed to mention that he had never heard of one of their kind reaching such a milestone. They usually just hung around, working as hard as they could, until they were killed by an outside force, or they broke, and were whisked away. To where, he had no idea. In truth, he knew that a Reaper did not really die. They simply ceased to exist, bodies too broken or ruined to continue functioning. Their memories remained, harsh and jagged, like ghosts made of broken glass. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He thought of Alan and Eric, and countless others, and shivered. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“...it sounds like a farce to me,” Emma whispered. She drew back into herself again, eyes downcast. She looked like a small porcelain doll, with her golden hair like a halo around her found face and the buds of her pink lips pulled into a pout. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>William sighed, and pushed his glasses up his nose. “For some, it is the only sliver of hope we have been offered. We do what we can in this purgatory, hoping for release.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“A dream within a dream,” Emma said quietly. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“...indeed,” William replied. “A dream within a dream.” </span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>‘Yet if hope has flown away</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>In a night, or in a day,</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>In a vision, or in none,</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Is it therefore the less gone?’</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Taking to his feet again, William rounded the side of his desk. He offered his hand, gloved, to Emma. “You should meet your coworkers--the other dreamers, if you wish to call them that.” Though he did not feel it, he forced himself to smile. It was just a slight twitch of his lips, upward, toward the knife-blade’s chill of his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>She took his hand, carefully. Quietly. Cleanly. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>‘O God! can I not save</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>One from the pitiless wave?</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Is all that we see or seem</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>But a dream within a dream?’</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Soul-Searching</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
  <span>The break room for this floor of the main office building was settled against the southern wall. Light poured in through the massive windows that took up the entirety of the back wall. A few tables and chairs were scattered about, some currently inhabited by Reapers who had arrived just in time to make themselves some tea or coffee in order to help them get through the Monday morning blues. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Someone had brought in a large plate of cookies, which was placed on one of the smaller tables. They smelled burnt, and only a few had been taken from the looks of how full the platter was. Aside from the acrid smell of the treats, the heady, bitter smell of strong coffee flooded the room, along with sweeter notes of tea. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>William opened the door for Emma, allowing her inside first. He closed his eyes as she stepped passed him, into the room proper. Once he was sure she was safely inside, he followed after her. She immediately went for the cookies, and he could almost taste her disappointment when she found them to be disgusting. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Clearing his throat, he brought the attention of those in the room to him. He paused, motioning to the new recruit as she started to pour herself a cup of coffee. “I would like you all to meet your newest coworker, Miss Emma Blanke. She had started today. I will be evaluating everyone to see who she would be best paired with during her training--” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“That’s a child.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Wait, what? Mr. Spears, you’re joking, right? This is some kind of joke?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“She’s so small!” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“...I do hope all of you are </span>
  <em>
    <span>quite finished,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>William snapped. He pushed his glasses up his nose once more, using just the tips of his gloved fingers. “You will treat Miss Blanke with every iota of respect that she is due; she is your coworker now, and is equal to you all. To all of us, seeking redemption.” Frowning, he watched at least two of the Reapers in the room roll their eyes. Though it pained him, he knew that not everyone was looking to be forgiven. Not everyone desired that taste of Heaven. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Some of them were perfectly pleased to be dead, and to be what they were now. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Some of them felt that this was their reward, if anything, for having had the foresight to end their own lives. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Honestly. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>He opened his mouth, ready to speak again, when the door opened in a rush behind him. Without even having to look, he knew exactly which Reaper had stepped in--judging from the click of her heels, the rose-musk smell of her perfume, and the soft red warmth that flowed out of her being. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <b>
    <em>‘Thou art an emblem of the glow</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>        Of beauty -- the unhidden heart --</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>        The playful maziness of art…’</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    
  </b>
  <span>“William!” her voice oozed, and he felt her wrap her arms around his waist. Flinching, he pulled away, though he had to admit he craved her warmth at times. This was definitely one of them. Though he had no romantic love for the woman, she was a pillar of strength for him when he needed her most. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Oh, how he needed that strength now. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Sutcliff,” he said icily, despite himself. He pulled out of the redhead’s grasp, looking to her with pleading eyes. “You are just in time to meet your new coworker.” He inclined his head, motioning with a glance to Emma, who was quietly sipping her tea. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Oh?” Grelle purred, pulling herself upright with a grin. “Let’s see what the cat has dragged in now--o-oh?” Her usual flirtatious, carefree demeanor fell away. A shadow passed over her face, through her eyes, as she looked down upon the young girl. “Mm...is this…?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“This is Miss Emma Blanke,” William said quietly. He searched Grelle’s eyes, his own gasping for air, for purchase. He was screaming, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Help Me</span>
  </em>
  <span>” with those green, dead orbs. Her own peered into his, looking, understanding. “She arrived this morning.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grelle forced a quick smile, not showing her razor sharp teeth, as she approached the girl. “Well, then. Hello.” She offered her a curtsy, daintily crossing her ankles and lowering herself slightly. “Another woman! Ah.” Her voice was shaking, just so, but ever the actress, she continued through. “It’s not often that someone like us is allowed to join the retrieval unit. Welcome, then, love!” </span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>‘But when within thy wave she looks --</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>        Which glistens then, and trembles -’</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>“...you’re a woman?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just as much as you are, pet.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frowning, Emma continued to sip her tea. She made a slight face, then set the cup near the sink. Noting this, Grelle swept beside her. She gathered up a fresh cup and poured out some coffee, gently adding two spoonfuls of sugar and a touch of cream. Then, with another smile, she handed this to the girl. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Try that. Tea isn’t exactly to my tastes, either.” The redhead watched the girl sip at the drink,  her hands clasped together in front of her as she waited. “Good, right? Ah, I think you and I are going to get along splendidly.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sighing, Emma nodded. “This is much better than the tea. This is coffee?” She watched Grelle nod. “Okay. Well. It is good. You’ll have to show me how to make it.” Huffing, she blew some of her hair out of her face, the golden curls falling right back into place. “You’re the only one that hasn’t pointed out that I’m younger.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As though surprised, Grelle fluttered her hands in the air. “One should not point out a lady’s shortcomings. It is no business of mine what your age is, dear.” She rounded on William then. “You’ve been mentioning her age? William! That is very rude of you!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, her eyes were full of worry, of pain. She knew what had happened to this little one; that she was dead, just as the rest of them were. That Emma had taken her own life so young, so quickly. </span>
  <b>
    <em>‘The heart which trembles at the beam; Of her soul-searching eyes.’</em>
  </b>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose it was a misstep,” William said smoothly, his eyes screaming back, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“What do we do?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“We continue on! She is in pain, just as the rest of us are; she needs to be treated with care and love. She is a child, but she is also a person with her own thoughts, William.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Grelle sighed quietly, her eyes speaking volumes to William as she turned away from him. “Now,” she said aloud, to Emma, “has Mr. Spears assigned anyone to you for your training?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emma hummed, still sipping her drink. Relaxed now, calmer. She leaned against the counter and shrugged. “I don’t believe so. Can I request someone?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You haven’t met everyone--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want the red lady to train me, then,” Emma said, cutting William off. “She is the only one around here that seems to have any brains.” Finishing the coffee, she handed it out to Grelle. “Would you make me another cup, please?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Grelle purred. She smiled gently, tipping her head to one side. “Oh, let’s try some caramel in it. Ronnie bought some for me. It’s at my desk. Let me go grab some, hm?” Taking the cup, she motioned to the door. “Come with?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Emma said. She smoothed out her skirt, and followed after Grelle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That left William standing in the middle of the room, his breath stilled. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Honestly.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Demonic</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
  <b>
    <em>‘Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary…’</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    
  </b>
  <span>Days had fallen away from him. William sat in the park, quietly watching a mother duck as she led her hatchlings along the smooth, glassy water of the pond. A brisk breeze blew through his well-managed hair, throwing a few strands into his face. Ignoring the tickle of his own hair as it brushed across his forehead, he leaned back on the iron bench. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>A week, he thought quietly. It had been an entire week since Emma had first arrived, basically on his doorstep. Cold at first, she was starting to warm up, to fall in line, to take her scythe and work. Grelle was surprisingly easy with her, walking her through every step of the process of soul retrieval. Who knew that the flaming red-head could be such a good trainer? </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Still.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Emma was a child, and would be, for the rest of eternity. That thought had stuck with him, hurting him. William’s thoughts were of the child, of the pain she had to have gone through. He did not wish to step out of line, to punish the people that had punished her for no reason. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>But he knew of someone who, possibly, could. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <b>‘Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before…’</b>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>He</span>
  </em>
  <span> came then, in the darkness of the night, all twisted up in smoke and steam. An inky blackness that still stole away William’s breath, even when he knew the man-thing was to arrive. A hushing flutter of feathers, of wings, and then the gentle </span>
  <em>
    <span>tap tap tap</span>
  </em>
  <span> of his shoes as he walked to the bench. A soft breeze as he took a seat; then they sat, together, Reaper and Demon. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“It has been some time,” Sebastian said, a hint of a smile upon his damned lips. “It isn’t often I receive a message from you. I do believe the last time we spoke like this, we were supposed to be sleeping in that tent at the circus--”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“This is not for me, demon,” William spat, though there was less venom in his tone than he thought there would be. “What happened at the circus was a mistake.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Oh, to hear you call my name again--”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Enough, Sebastian,” William hissed, his voice lower now. Remembering the gentle touches, the flittering kisses, the hushed whispers of damnation. “Please.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Sebastian turned to William then, frowning. His crimson eyes were lost in thought before he spoke again, his voice calmer, gentler than it had been before. “What has you riled so?” He waited, listening. Every listening, ever waiting. He was truly eternal.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>William often wondered, quietly, silently, if Sebastian was the truest form of freedom. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He pulled from his jacket Emma’s file folder, smoothly passing it off to the demon. Sebastian gingerly took it, opening it to read whatever was inside. His face darkened as he continued on, word by word on the pristine, white page. “This bothers you? Humanity is as such, William. You should know that by now.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“She committed suicide,” the Reaper whispered. “She felt she had no other choice.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“She is not the first.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Nor the last.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“But this has upset you.” Sebastian passed the paperwork back, turning so that he was facing William properly. “This sort of thing usually does not.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>William took a breath, pulling it into himself from the night air. “She deserved to live her life in full. She deserved happiness.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Ah,” Sebastian purred, quietly. “Happiness. The most fleeting thing on Earth, and in Heaven. Yet you and all like you strive for it. Humanity knows how to suffer, to bring suffering, and yet the thing they desire most--well. It is constantly outside of their grasps.” He lay his hand gently on William’s knee. “You know that, William. At least, I had thought you would.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The Reaper pulled away. He continued to watch the ducks on the pond, silent. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You are hard to read, you know,” Sebastian offered with a sigh. He took his hand back. “Why did you ask me here? Surely not to decompress.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You know why.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I do. What will you give me in return for this?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I have stricken their names from the To-Die list. Their souls are yours to do with what you wish.” William hung his head. He looked down at his gloved hands. For Emma? Yes. He would do this, turn his head away, for Emma, so she could have some sort of peace. Some sort of comfort in knowing that the people who had, in part, driven the young girl to slit her wrists would suffer worse than she had. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>After all. William knew what the demon could do.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Sebastian leaned in, slightly, to force his face into William’s view. There was a surprising amount of worry in his gleaming, crimson eyes. “You did? I will not be interrupted in this?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“No. You won’t.” William looked at the other man, properly. “You have my word.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <b>
    <em>‘...no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core…’</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  
  <span>William took a soft breath. He held Sebastian’s gaze for a time; the deep crimson so warm and Hellish that it stirred a longing in the Reaper’s chest. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Come away with me</span>
  </em>
  <span>, those eyes purred. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Come away with me, and be truly free. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Yet, as ever, he was bound to his duty, to his work, to his own damnation. William was trapped, forever, in a cage of death and rust; of decay. Of dust. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Sebastian’s face broke into a wicked smile. “When do you want me to ask you again, William? When should I offer you freedom again?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>As the Reaper stood, he brushed off his shoulder as though to brush off Sebastian. He glared at the man, the demon, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing. </span>
  </em>
  <span>To think, he had sunk so low! With fresh, steel-like resolve, he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“</span>
  <b>
    <em>Nevermore</em>
  </b>
  <span>,” he breathed.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Together</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
  <span>Many pens and pencils had met their untimely demises at the unrelenting sharpness of Grelle’s teeth. It was a habit from life that she had not yet broken herself of, even after two hundred years of being a Grim Reaper. Even now, as she leaned back in her chair--a red cushioned thing that swiveled when she moved her hips just so--an unfortunate pencil snapped between the jagged daggers of her teeth. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Bugger,” she mumbled, spitting out the shreds of wood and lead into her small trash can. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Paperwork is boring,” Emma moaned. She leaned against Grelle’s desk, huffing as she flung a pen across the room and into a small, wooden bowl that housed such things. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Good throw, love.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Thanks. I’ve been practicing.” Emma glanced over the mounds of pages to look at her trainer. Grelle was still a bit of a mystery to her--all drenched in crimson and oozing sharp anger, but there was such a terrible softness to her that it made Emma’s chest hum. Even over the course of the two weeks during which the two had been paired together, the younger Reaper found herself wondering if the red-headed woman had offed herself because she could not carry a child of her own. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“It is almost time to clock out,” Grelle purred. She fetched herself a new pencil, then switched it, quickly, for a pen. “Let’s finish up, and then I’ll take you to London, hm? I think you deserve a pick-me-up.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Emma scrunched up her face, half pouting, half angry. “A pick-me-up? Like...what were you thinking?” She hoped it wasn’t something childish--despite her age at her time of death, she honestly did not consider herself a child any longer. That was something that everyone in the dispatch seemed to forget--save for Grelle, who had, from day one, treated her as an equal and a lady. That thought soothed her a bit, and her round face relaxed. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <b>
    <em>‘From childhood's hour I have not been</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>As others were -- I have not seen</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>As others saw -- I could not bring</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>My passions from a common spring --’</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Shrugging one shoulder, Grelle signed her name to a few papers before standing up briskly. “I was thinking a show. Have you ever been to a play?” Grinning, she pulled open her desk, producing two pieces of parchment--tickets. “I thought I would reward you for putting in so much time. I do hope you like Shakespeare, love.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>With renewed interest, Emma sat up a bit straighter. “Oh, a play! I...I was never allowed to go--” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Well, love, you are now. Come along! We should get you something to wear, too. Something properly elegant that suits you, instead of that stuffy uniform you’re forced to wear.” Grelle smiled brightly, all teeth and reddened lips. Emma had stopped flinching from the sight days ago, finally growing comfortable with the woman’s dangerous grin. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>She was nothing like Emma’s mother had been. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
  <span>A swift shiver ran up the girl’s spine at the thought. No. Grelle certainly wasn’t the cold, unfeeling woman that Emma had assumed all adult females evolved into after childhood. The fear of becoming such a creature had plagued the girl, right up until her suicide--and might have played a small factor into it. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>No. Grelle was all fire and passion, all danger and love and everything Emma wished she could have known in life. Her mother was everything else; cold, and dark and blue, with pale hair that looked dead and eyes so grey they felt like ice on a river. Memories of harsh words and harsher blows filtered into her brain, making her remember. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Pistol to my head--</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>--screaming, screaming, screaming.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>--”You have to, for the family--” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>“Spread your legs, you fucking whore--”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>“We need the money! We need the money, damn you, girl--”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>“--worthless--worthless--worthless--”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>Gasping for air, the girl felt someone touching her. Arms, strong and warm, were wrapped around her shoulders, holding her tightly as though afraid she would shatter without them. It took a moment to realize that she was crying, that hot tears had wetted her cheeks. </span>
  <b>‘</b>
  <b>
    <em>My sorrow -- I could not awaken--’</em>
  </b>
  <span> Shaking. Shaking. Shaking. Emma tried to pull herself together, but instead found herself sobbing into Grelle’s chest. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Hush, now. I’m here. I’m here.” Grelle stroked the girl’s hair. “I know. I know.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Emma shivered, holding onto the woman for all that she was worth. “Don’t let go.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I won’t, love. I won’t.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Grelle pressed her lips against Emma’s head, gently kissing her until the flashbacks had passed, until she was calm again. Until she could breathe. It took a few minutes, during which she watched William pass by her office, pausing in the opened door. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>“What happened?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>William asked silently, a frown on his face--and more. Concern. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>“Flashbacks,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Grelle’s eyes replied, inclining her head just so toward Emma’s shaking form. The younger Reaper did not know William was there; the look on Grelle’s face suggested that he leave. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“She doesn’t trust you, yet.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>“Yet, if ever,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>William nodded, then continued down the hallway, saying nothing verbally, but there was pain in his green eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He had done what he could--and it was not enough. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Never enough.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>Finally, Emma pulled back. She sniffled quietly, rubbing her eyes on the handkerchief that Grelle produced from some pocket or another. She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I--”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“We all get them,” Grelle said. She pulled over a spare chair, sitting in it and taking Emma’s hand. “They are flashbacks. One of the men that works in forensics told me once that they are results of something called ‘P.T.S.D.,’ which is a fancy way of saying that they are from things that had a bad impact on you in life.” She ran her thumb over Emma’s knuckles, a soft sigh upon her lips. “I get them, sometimes. Not as often as I did, before. But still. You get...numb to them, sometimes.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Shivering, Emma quickly shook her head. “I don’t want to be numb. I don’t want to go cold.” She felt like she was going to cry again. “I have spoken to some of the other Reapers, and...you all just...you stop. You stop being human, somewhere along the line. You stop feeling anything at death, and at--”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“We don’t,” Grelle said, gently, softly, a bit of sadness in her own voice now. “We really don’t. It just becomes easier to lie to ourselves, love.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <b>
    <em>‘And all I lov'd -- I lov'd alone --</em>
  </b>
  <b>’</b>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I don’t want to lie.” Emma turned her hand over, squeezing Grelle’s fingers. Hanging on for dear life, or perhaps, dear sanity. “I want to remember, and feel. I don’t...I don’t want to be like William.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>That brought Grelle up short. “What--” She looked at the girl, owlishly, behind her red rimmed glasses. “You don’t want to be like Will? Why ever not?” She frowned, sharply, teeth on display. “He’s a great man. A bit...cold, yes, but that chill in his eyes--!”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“He’s soulless, Grelle. I don’t like him.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Grelle froze. She pulled away from the girl, watching her carefully. She knew about the midnight deal with the devil--how could she not? William told her everything, especially these days. He used her as a confessional, and she was more than happy to drink up his sins. Ever since his mission at the circus--ever since he had laid with a demon, since he had given himself over, for the first time since his death, to desire and lust and </span>
  <em>
    <span>need.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
  <span>William was not soulless. If anything, he was the most human of them all.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <b>
    <em>‘In its autumn tint of gold -- From the lightning in the sky’</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You need to spend time with him,” Grelle said with a soft sigh. She hugged the girl again. “Now, come. Dry your eyes. Let’s go get you ready for tonight, hm? It’s time to clock out, after all--and the play will start in just a few hours! We need to find you something comfortable but elegant to wear, pet.” She cupped Emma’s round face in her hands, offering her up a kind smile that reached her eyes. “A lady should always look her best.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Even when she is feeling her worse?” Emma huffed. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Even then, love. Even then.” Grelle kissed the girl’s forehead. “Come, now. You deserve a little treat after these last few weeks, hm?” </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  
  <span>The play was wonderful. Emma was giddy after seeing it, the fresh memory of the actors playing in her mind. Grelle had managed decent seats, and Emma worried about the amount of money the redhead had probably spent. That was not to mention the new outfit, the purse, the shoes...As much as she had wanted to refuse, Grelle would have insisted, and beyond that--Emma had never been spoiled so before. Not like this, and not simply because he was loved. She had been dolled up before, with things that had made her all the more attractive to the male eye--but this was different. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Grelle had allowed her to pick out whatever she wanted. Any color, any style, any shape. Whatever she had wanted, the redhead had gladly purchased for her. Emma would be lying to herself if she had said she didn’t take advantage of the situation. Perhaps she had asked for one too many necklaces, or the lace gloves were too much. Either way, she felt loved for the first time in her existence. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>It left her feeling high, like she was flying. Like she could understand happiness. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Like she was alive. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Emma stuck close to Grelle, the two of them chatting together over the plot of the show. They were having fun. Relaxed. Enjoying their time together, in this, their time off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Grelle stiffened, just so. Emma felt her freeze beside her. “What is it?” she asked, voice hushed, as the redhead took her hand. She felt herself being pulled away, into the Space Between, that offered a veil of invisibility to Reapers. Usually, they were required to duck away so as to not simply vanish before mortals. This, though--this was different. Something had either spooked Grelle, or she had seen someone she did not wish to interact with. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“What’s wrong?” Emma asked, knowing that her voice would be masked as well. She looked through the crowded London streets. She felt something tug at her, something dark and painful. Something that stunk and yet--it was sweet. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The smell was coming from a tall, slender male clad in black, his eyes a dark brown--or were they red?--as he marched dutifully beside a young boy. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Young boy? He was probably her age, she realized, though he held himself with importance, with purpose. Pain, suffering, heartache--it all oozed off of him, into the air, as though he was producing his own toxic ozone. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Emma sucked in a breath, tensing herself. What she was, what she had become, knew what this creature was--and what the boy was, too. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <b>
    <em>‘Of a demon in my view --’</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  
  <span>A demon and his meal.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Their enemy. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“We need to--”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“We need to go back to our realm,” Grelle said, cutting Emma off. She held the younger Reaper’s hand, squeezing gently. “I could have loved him, once.” Her voice was painfully soft. “But someone else loves him--and I don’t want to break that particular heart.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“What are you--”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>And then the world shifted, turning inside out. Grelle pulled them through space, time, and existence, back into the cold reality of the realm of the Reapers. Once they touched down on firm land once more, Emma pulled away. “Grelle?” she asked, confusion on her face. “Why--”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The redhead sighed. “Some things aren’t my story to tell you, love,” she said, gently. “Just...just. Don’t ever speak to that man, or that brat of a kid. They aren’t what they seem, and I would hate to see you tangled up with them.” She looked down upon the girl, something like longing in her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Longing, and a future that would never happen. Of envy, and despair, and so many other things that made her eyes look--almost--alive. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I won’t,” Emma said. She took Grelle’s hand, squeezing it gently. “I won’t, Grelle. I promise.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>It hurt her, deep down, to lie. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Lost</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>
    <em>‘Thank Heaven! the crisis --</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>    The danger is past,</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>And the lingering illness</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>    Is over at last --</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>And the fever called "Living"</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>    Is conquered at last.’</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  
  <span>William shuffled the papers on his desk. The look Grelle had given him still haunted his thoughts, pulling him away from what he should have been doing. It hurt to know that the young girl thought him soulless--more than he wished to admit. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>“She is lost still, William. You can’t blame her. You can’t hold her accountable for being frightened of you, of any of us.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>“She seems to care for you.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>“Don’t be bitter about that! I can’t help it. I see her and...I see myself, a bit. I...I love her. Oh, God, I love her like the child I could never have.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>“...at least there is that, I suppose. At least </span>
  </em>
  <span>you’ve</span>
  <em>
    <span> found some happiness, in this.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>“William, don’t--”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>“--what I would give to be able to be happy.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He growled at himself. With a quick flick of his wrist, he pulled out one of the drawers in his desk and pulled out a small, silver flask. Pausing, he worried it with his fingers, turning it over and over in his hands. It had been a joke gift from Ronald, a few years ago. Still--still. He had filled it with whiskey. He had put it in his desk. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Never before had he sipped from it. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Now, he took a deep, long swallow. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>‘The sickness -- the nausea --</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>    The pitiless pain --</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Have ceased, with the fever</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>    That maddened my brain --</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>With the fever called "Living"</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>    That burned in my brain.’</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  
  <span>--and another. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>And another, until the damned thing was drained, until he was dizzy and burning from the inside out. Until he couldn’t hold back the silent tears, running down his face. With a heave, he threw the flask across the room. It slammed into a potted plant, rattling the poor ficus. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>William shuddered, gasping, and lay his head upon his desk until the emotion passed. He sobbed, quietly, into his paperwork, ruining them with his tears. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>What did it matter? </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>What did any of it matter?</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He was dead, forgotten to the world. He had left little behind--which had been the point, hadn’t it? He was a smear, a nothing, a footnote--if that--upon the page of the world’s history. A period, a fleck of dust. Nothing. He was nothing, nothing, nothing, and would forever be, nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>So lost in his own woes that he did not notice someone enter his office. He did not hear her small, soft feet as she crept around the side of his desk. It wasn’t until he felt her hand on his bicep that he startled himself out of his thoughts. Bleary eyed, he looked up into Emma’s equally startled face. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“M-Miss Blanke,” he choked out. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>She watched him, quietly, then pulled her hand away. “Were you having flashbacks?” she finally asked, voice like an angel, so quiet and pure and--</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>William found himself nodding, slowly. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You’re drunk.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I might be, yes.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Emma pulled over a chair. She sat in it, pulling William’s head into her lap. “Grelle does this, when I have them. She lets me cry in her lap.” He was watching her, his green eyes huge behind his glasses. There was no shame, no anger between them then. Just a child-like gentleness. “It’s...it’s okay to cry, Mr. Spears.” Careful fingers stroked his hair, just so. Just enough to ease him into a quiet sob against her legs, his face partially buried in her skirt. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I’m sorry,” he gasped, shoulders shaking. “This is most unbecoming.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You have...you have a scar on the back of your neck.” Emma’s gloved fingers brushed it, slightly, moving his hair out of the way. He swallowed hard, so she released his hair, letting it fall in a hush of black against the pale skin of the jagged, angry scar. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>There was a pause. Then, quietly, shaking, “I jumped.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>She sucked in a breath, hugging him gently to her, squeezing him as Grelle had to her. “I won’t let you break,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, William. I thought...I thought you were cold. But you’re like us. You’re like me.” She shivered. “You’re lost, too.” </span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>‘And she prayed to the angels</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>    To keep me from harm --</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>To the queen of the angels</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>    To shield me from harm.’</em>
  </b>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
  <span>The night was cold. Winter was approaching, and swiftly at that; soon enough, snow would litter the ground in a blanket of perfect, crystal white. Already, couples were bundling up, gathering up scarves and gloves, cuddling close on the streets for warmth and comfort. It was a romantic time, really--full of love and laughter, of roaring fires and sweets that lingered on the tip of tongues. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>That was the realm of the living, at least. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Far and away, in the realm of the Reapers, the weather was exactly the same as it always was. A grey-blue sky, few clouds, an even temperature that edged along the knife’s edge of cold. The well-trimmed plants were in stasis, as they always were; nothing grew anew, or sprang up to blossom. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>‘</span>
  <b>
    <em>Lo! Death has reared himself a throne</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>In a strange city lying alone</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Far down within the dim West,</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Have gone to their eternal rest.’</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>Grelle sighed quietly, watching out of the window of her small office. Considering her position, she had been allotted something slightly larger than a cubical, but still smaller than the grand offices those higher than she had been given. Sometimes, she would admit a touch of envy, especially when she entered William’s office. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another sigh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emma mumbled quietly against her chest, cuddled up tight to the redhead as she slept. Grelle watched her for a time, her breathing gentle and even, even though they both knew they no longer needed to draw breath. It was a comfort, just as much as anything. No heart beat within their chests; yet they still needed slumber, still needed sustenance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With the hand that was not holding the young girl to her, Grelle signed off on a few pieces of paperwork. Huffing, she tried to blow an unruly strand of crimson out of her face; the rest of her long tresses were pulled back with a velvet bow, as dark as night and twice as soft. Try as she might, she could not make her hair work with her--yet she was loath to move, afraid of waking the little bundle in her arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you need a break?” came an unusually soft voice from her door. Grelle looked up, smiling gently as William peeked his head inside. His eyes glimmered, just so, pretending to have life to them. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hush, please. Come and take her out of my arms so I can finish up and we can both go home.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Grelle flicked one of her ever-worried eyebrows upward, then looked to Emma’s head. William came as called by the woman’s green eyes, pulled in like a fish on the line of a fisherman. Or like a moth to the flame--perhaps that would be a better simile. Either way, he tenderly scooped up the girl into his grasp, sitting in a chair opposite of Grelle so the redhead could finish up with her overtime work. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>William sighed, just so, expelling his breath carefully. “I did not realize she was staying with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A slight shrug of her shoulders and a flick of her hand. Grelle poured over the parchment pieces on her desk, gnawing on the end of her pen on occasion. “She can’t rightly stay by herself. Not until she’s used to everything. Not until she’s older.” The uncomfortable knowledge that Emma would never age again hung in the air for a split second before Grelle spoke again. “Besides, she has horrible night terrors, and I would rather she attack me instead of someone else going to check on her.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She has attacked you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm?” Grelle glanced up. “Oh, she doesn’t mean to. She is so lost in the nightmare that anything would seem like one of those...</span>
  <em>
    <span>brutes</span>
  </em>
  <span>, to put it gently, that had hurt her.” She suppressed a shiver. “She has told me what her mother put her through--what that...that bitch made her do.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>William hugged Emma to himself, pulling his jacket around her as best he could. Fourteen years old or not, she was still slight, thin, and small. If he had not read her file himself, he would have thought her to be no older than eleven, if that. The thought that there were some men that--no. He could not think of that; it made him sick to his stomach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Bitch’ is an understatement.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doesn’t matter now, not much, hm? They’re dead and gone, I’m assuming.” Grelle flicked her attention up, looking into William’s chilly gaze. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>‘No rays from the holy heaven come down On the long night-time of that town…’</em>
  </b>
  <span> “Indeed,” William agreed. One of his hands stroked Emma’s hair, more fatherly and careful than he had ever been. The two older Reapers stared at each other, knowledge passing between them, silently. Neither of them had to utter Sebastian’s name. Not then. Not there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sat in a comfortable silence for a time. With them, having known each other as long as they had, sometimes, the silence was more powerful, more easy and gentle, than any words could be. There was no romance between them. There never would be. She loved him, for certain, but after a time the lust for him had passed. It had turned in upon itself, churning and evolving into something better, something more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, yes. Grelle loved William, and he, her, but it was a kind of love that was deeper than either of them could explain. They had done things to protect each other, to save each other. She had helped him through his anger issues, and still did. He helped to keep her grounded, to keep her focused, to keep her sane in a world that begged for insanity. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>‘A void within the filmy Heaven.</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>The waves have now a redder glow-</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>The hours are breathing faint and low-’</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  
  <span>She knew, silently, that he had love in his heart for a demon. Someone he could never have--and oh, she understood that far too well!--and someone he should never speak to. Their kinds were enemies, after all. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Yet…</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“There,” she said, softly, and finished signing her name. “All done.” Grelle stretched, her spine snapping pleasantly as she leaned back in her cushioned seat. When she exhaled, there was a soft gurgle of water in her lungs--her own scars from her suicide. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The ocean could be a cruel mistress. To her, it was a comfortable grave. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <b>
    <em>‘But light from out the lurid sea Streams up the turrets silently-’</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You have been doing very well lately, Grelle,” William said gently, his voice rumbling up from his chest, almost a purr. Emma mumbled in her slumber again, curling up tightly again against his chest and stomach. She had a few of her fingers twisted up in his tie. “I believe I am trapped.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Shrugging it off with a chuckle, Grelle stood up. Another stretch, then she fetched her coat, and Emma’s as well. “Why don’t you come have dinner with us? I think she would like that.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Do you?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Well. I would, certainly. We’re the only family she has, William.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>His breath caught in his throat. “F-family?” he whispered. Wide eyed, he looked down at the golden curls of Emma’s hair, currently crunched up against the white of his shirt, the darkness of his jacket and vest. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>For her, he would wear a color. Any, as long as it made her smile. Realizing this, his breathing stuttered once more. The feeling of his cheeks, wet with tears, resting against the warmth of her skirt as she soothed him out of his stupor. It had been a few days, but now--now she came, every morning, after she and Grelle had settled in. She brought him tea, and had learned how he liked it. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>For him, she smiled, and laughed, and some of her pain was gone. All it took was him to get drunk, to crumble. Then she became his wall. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Now, now. He had to be there for her. He glanced up at Grelle. For both of them. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He would move Heaven and Earth, if he had to. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>For them, he would rattle God and slay the Devil.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>For love.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Demonic, part 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
  <span>They were screaming. Again, again, again, horrors passing through them that no human should know. Three men, one woman. They writhed and cried out, cursing </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> as he strode between their cages. Crude things, made quickly of rusted iron and a wish. He touched the bars, chuckling idly to himself as those inside drew back with fear, with hatred. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Let it fill you,” he purred, teeth just sharp enough to draw attention to the lines of his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Sebastian reached the end of the row. He faced the broken wall there, the jagged, forgotten walls of the abandoned castle left to rot as they reached up toward the heavens. Vines clung to the bricks and stones, rotting too. Dead. He put his hand against them, grinning now. They caught fire, burning, burning, burning to ash and nothing more. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <b>
    <em>‘Nevermore.’</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Why are you doing this?” the woman cried out, not for the first time. He turned toward her with passive crimson eyes, the smile gone from his lips. “Why are you torturing us? We ain’t done nothing wrong?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Oh?” The demon slid toward the woman’s cage, his gloved fingers caressing the bars. “Really. Are you not Margret Blanke?” He watched her face pale, just a bit more than it had been before. He assumed she had been, at one time, lovely to behold. For a human, at least--for a piece of meat. Now, time and alcohol had worn her down, leaving her ragged, leaving her just as broken as the castle he held her in. She was dust, held together by spider-web silk and sheer anger, all rolled up into something that could still be called a woman. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I--I am,” she managed to eek out, realizing now that there was truly no escape. Blood, dried and brown, coated the left side of her face. There were burn marks beneath, scratches and claw marks and bitter bites. Rocking back in her own filth, she choked out a sob. “I don’t know what you are, mister, but I--I ain’t done nothing to deserve this.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Sebastian sighed. “I do hate liars,” he said, voice barely a whisper. He leaned down, watching her from on high, and blotted out the thin wisps of sunlight overhead. “You had a daughter, once. Someone who cares for her now--someone that </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>care for--has asked me to punish you, suitably. I am afraid I will be unable to do so properly, so you must excuse my shortcomings.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <b>
    <em>‘Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before…’</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    
  </b>
  <span>The woman shivered, pulling away from the shadow the man cast upon her. There was a chill to him, a bitter cold that dug into her flesh. Claws. He had claws in that shadow, all sharp and angry and frozen. Ice. But there was more--ever more. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <b>
    <em>‘Nevermore.’</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    
  </b>
  <span>“I...I had a daughter, but she’s dead now. You’re speaking nonsense!” the woman shrieked. “You’re torturing a poor mum!” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>One of the men choked out a laugh. “Really?” he spat. “You’re facing down the Devil himself, or something like him, and you’re going to plead innocence? We’ve all known your daughter, Marge, inside and out--and you only bemoan the loss of the money she’d bring in.” The man rubbed at the empty eye socket on his right side, having lived through it being eaten out of his skull by what had looked to be small beetles. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Only if beetles had thousands of tiny eyes, and wings that shimmered red like blood. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Sebastian grinned again. He straightened up, adjusting his gloves. Not a spot of filth upon them; that would be unfitting of a butler such as he. “I am not one to care for humans, or their thoughts of humanity--but someone has asked for me to end you all, to devour your souls, to take your memories from this world. I wonder--will anything remain, of any of you? Any thoughts, any friends, any love? No, I think. No.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <b>
    <em>‘Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.’</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  
  <span>There came a tapping from beyond the arched doorway. A young boy, no older than fourteen, passed into the torture room. He looked, displeased, at the man in black. “Sebastian, I thought I told you to finish up with this. Honestly. What has gotten into you?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“My apologies, my Lord,” Sebastian said as he bowed, all grace and invisible feathers, to Ciel Phantomhive. Or, at least, the twin masquerading under that name. A sinner, too--though different from those in the cages. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Ciel drew a handkerchief up over his nose to mask the scent of filth, of decay, of shit and sin. He glared with one visible eye at the four adults, all wrapped up in their bars of iron and shadow. Thorns poked into them, around them, drawing blood and cries. “I do hope you are having fun with your little side project. You are certain that the Reaper was not lying to you?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I am,” Sebastian admitted, voice growing quiet. Ciel noticed, saying nothing at first. “I do not think that man has it in him to lie. Not about something like this. He is a bit too...ah. He is a bit too thick to think of such a thing. As cold as he can be, he lets his heart rule his mind. An interesting adversary, if anything.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Mm,” Ciel hummed. He tapped his cane twice before walking between the rows of thistle-sharp cages. “Nevermind that you enjoy his company.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“No, nevermind that at all.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Peering down at the woman, Ciel huffed. “What are their crimes, then?” He tilted his head, just so, so that Sebastian could whisper into his ear. Despite himself, the young Earl’s visible eye widened. Just enough. Just enough to show his disdain, his hatred, his anger. When Sebastian pulled away, the young boy was shaking, just so. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“This girl suffered through that?” he said, quickly, quietly, as he composed himself. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Indeed, my Lord.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“People like you,” he hissed to the woman, “make me ill. You leave a terrible taste in my mouth that not even the sweetest candy will remove. Sebastian--do with them as you wish. And if you see that Reaper again--which I know you will--tell him he has my thanks for bringing such trash to the surface.” Ciel glared at the adults. “Though I loath to order such a thing--make it hurt.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Sebastian grinned, all teeth now, and shadows come alive. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <b>
    <em>‘...thinking what this ominous bird of yore-What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore, Meant in croaking "Nevermore."’</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    
  </b>
  <span>“Yes, my Lord.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Their screams filled the air, like fireflies taking flight, into the oncoming darkness of evening overhead. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Far and away, in the Reaper’s realm, Emma slept comfortably against William’s chest, nightmares of her past forgotten, at least for now. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>‘</span>
  <b>
    <em>And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    
  </b>
  <b>
    
  </b>
  <b>
    <em>Shall be lifted- nevermore!’</em>
  </b>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. City of Gold</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>
    <em>‘GAILY bedight,</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>        A gallant knight,</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>In sunshine and in shadow,</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>        Had journeyed long,</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>        Singing a song,</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>In search of Eldorado.’</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Emma shivered, just slightly. She wrapped herself up tighter in her coat, blowing warm air from between her lips to warm her hands. The gloves were doing nothing to keep her fingers from freezing. She vaguely remembered William saying something about the fact that the gloves were more from keeping them from physical touch. It was forbidden; skin on skin transmitted thoughts. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Love.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>When she shivered again, it was not from the cold. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Four months. It had been four entire months since she had arrived in the Reaper’s realm. Four months since she had been recruited. Four months since she had committed suicide and ended her young, unlived life. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Four months since she started to live--perhaps for the first time. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Are you certain you wish to do this? There is no going back,” Grelle said quietly, beside her. There was a pain of worry upon the redhead’s face. “William is going to be pissed, love. Maybe it’s not too late to turn back.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“No.” Emma straightened up, looking at the mansion before them. It was a grand thing, lovely and well kept. There was a sadness about it, though. Terrible things had happened there. So many deaths. Through it all, the mansion had been rebuilt, time and time again, bandages over a rotting wound. She pushed her glasses up her nose, just so, nervously. “William deserves happiness.” </span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>‘And o'er his heart a shadow</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>        Fell as he found</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>        No spot of ground</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>That looked like Eldorado.’</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Grelle sighed, adjusting her jacket. “I shouldn’t have told you.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“No. I’m glad you did. If anyone finds out, he will be in terrible trouble--and I can’t live with myself if he is punished because of me. Because of my past.” Emma glanced behind her, at Grelle, at the woman she had started to think of as her mother. A better mother than the one she had left behind, no doubt. Not perfect--very few things were--but she was enough. There was so much love there, too. It burned sometimes, and smothered. But it was there, light and fluffy and sweet.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>And it was hers. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Emma smiled. “Stay here. If things go wrong, then you can make a dramatic entrance and save me.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Ah, you know me far too well, pet.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The young Reaper’s smile turned into a grin. Then, with steely resolve, she turned back toward the Phantomhive manor, chin up and head held high. She had a demon to speak to. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Getting inside was surprisingly easy. Slipping between this world and the Space Between, she managed to weave her way between panes of glass, between bricks and wood. No lock could truly stop Death, after all. Her kind could slither between cracks and dart into whispers. Soon enough, Emma found herself standing in a corridor. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The sweet, sickly scent of the demon permeated the air; she had to cover her mouth for a moment so that she could think straight. Eventually, the nausea passed, and she was able to follow the strongest of the heady smell to a lone bedroom. The door was open, just a crack; light spilled out into the corridor, flickering. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should not linger in doorways,” Sebastian’s voice came from outside. “If you wish to speak with me, then please, make yourself visible, and enter.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Startling, the girl dropped her invisibility. “I...I’m sorry,” she squeaked. “I did not mean to--”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Sebastian opened his door a bit wider, peering out into the hallway for a second longer than he truly needed to. So used to playing human was he that he had trained himself to hold a moment to suggest he was waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness outside of his quarters. “Ah,” he said, voice just barely a purr. “I see. The young Reaper.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Emma,” she said, voice becoming firm in her throat and upon her tongue. “My name is Emma Blanke. And I have come to speak with you about William T. Spears.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Smiling in a way that suggested fangs without actually showing any, Sebastian dipped his head. “Of course. Please, enter.” He held the door for her, and shut it swiftly behind her. In the den of the demon she was now; all hope lost. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Only--her hope was burning fiercely now. More so than ever before. Before the demon could speak again, before he could even turn to face her, she took up a stance, firmly, in the center of the room. “He loves you,” she said, with all of the pain and beauty of such a thing. With all of the gold in the world upon her tongue; with the truth of light and happiness, there, just outside of her own reach.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>But if she could find that gold for William--</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>--if she could only end a bit of his suffering, for a moment, for a second--</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>--then it would be worth it. Every cent she would pay, every dime she had to steal. Whatever she had to do, she would do--because she loved him, as only a daughter could to a father.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Sebastian watched her, unmoved by the revelation. Then, quietly, “That man knows nothing of love. I doubt any human truly--”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“He isn’t human,” Emma huffed. She crossed her arms over her slender chest, teeth sharpening in her mouth. “Nor are you. Don’t play by human rules. Not now. He dreams of you. When he falls asleep at his desk, when he forgets to go home at night and I go to check on him, to bring him tea? He dreams of you, whispers of you.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I cannot help what William dreams of, young lady.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“No,” Emma breathed. She pushed the tears from her eyes. “But you can be there, in the waking hours, to make his existence a bit less miserable.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The demon sighed. He took a seat on his bed, offering a space beside him to her. “Please,” he mumbled. “Sit. If you wish to have this conversation, then it is going to take time. Perhaps we should call Miss Sutcliff inside. It is beginning to snow, and I know that she would send me her dry cleaning bill should something happen to her clothing.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Just us. She’s fine.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Sebastian raised an eyebrow, just slightly. “Oh?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“We don’t get sick. Not like that. And she’s found some place cozy by now, I’m sure.” Emma smoothed out her skirt. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I see.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>They sat in silence for a time, the minutes ticking by so painfully slow. Then, suddenly, “He’s fading. No matter how happy he pretends to be, he needs...more. More than I can offer him. I think I helped, in a way--a puzzle piece that he needed. But he needs more, Mr. Michaelis. He needs…” Emma worried the hem of her sleeves, thumb running over the jagged scars on her wrists. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>‘ And, as his strength</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>        Failed him at length,</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>He met a pilgrim shadow --</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>        "Shadow," said he,</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>        "Where can it be --</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>This land of Eldorado?"’</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I don’t want to lose him,” she said, finally, as small tears pooled up in her eyes. “I honestly think you feel the same, if you were to look into whatever serves as your heart.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Why do you think that?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Emma hummed. “Demons have a certain smell to them. My apologies, but it is true. Each of you smell a bit differently, too, from what I’ve been able to gather. You--you have a strong, sweet scent, heady. It reminds me of wine in a way, and of bitter chocolates, but there’s a darkness to it, too. Like a rot, but not as earthy. I smell you sometimes, lingering just outside of our realm. I smell you on William’s jacket when he carries me home at night, when I’ve fallen asleep because we’re understaffed and I’m tired.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>That brought Sebastian up short. He looked at the girl, then chuckled. “I suppose you are smarter than the average Grim Reaper, aren’t you. Very well. Yes. I find him...I find him to be an interesting entity. I enjoy his company from time to time--in more ways than one.” Slightly, just so, his eyes softened. “I have offered him eternity before. He will not take it. Not from me.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Drawing a breath, Emma dipped her head. “I have an idea,” she said, forcing strength into her voice, into her being. She looked Sebastian, dead in the eyes. “An idea that will give William his El Dorado, his family, his everything.” She grabbed the demon’s hand. “But I need your help.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Sebastian’s eyes widened, just a fraction, as he looked down at her small hands. There were scars across her wrists, her knuckles--and no gloves did she wear now. They were discarded on the bed, forgotten. His eyes snapped to her face, so round and full of eternal, dead youth. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“What would you have me do, then, young lady?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Emma smiled, and made a deal with the Devil. </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Cliff</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
  <span>Panic. Pure, terrible panic, rising up through his chest and into his mouth. Sour and bitter, it lingered there until he forced himself to take a swig of water. It did nothing, only causing the liquid to settle within his stomach like a lead weight. With shaking hands, he forced himself to take a seat behind his desk, head hung. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>His door opened, and he jumped. William quickly brought himself to his feet, hope in his eyes. No. It was Ronald, sadness on his face as well. “Nothing, sir. I’m sorry. No one has seen or heard from them since...well. Since they left your office.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Four days ago,” William sighed. He returned to his chair, putting his head in his hands. Shoulders shaking, he was close to breaking. Close to losing it. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>I jumped.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
  <span>It was like that, again; that deep, sinking hatred. Fear. Sorrow. No. More than all of those. Something so deep and slick and sickly that it felt like the world was crushing him, pushing him forward, again. Off of the cliff side--onto the jagged rocks below--</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>His hand went to the back of his head, touching the scars there, where the rocks had pierced his skull, killing him. As they said, it was not the fall that killed. It was the sudden stop at the end. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He heard movement around him, but time was slipping through his fingers. Everything was slipping. Everything. Falling away from him, granules of sand, of time, of nothing. He was nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He wanted to die, all over again. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Ronald sat with him, for a time, until he was called away by the director. Othello came and went as well, and others, all worried for their boss, for the young Reaper and the lady in red. They were all blurs to William, and nothing more. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Nothing.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>When he opened his eyes, he found himself upon that cliff again. Since his death, he had only visited it once before--when Grelle had disappeared, when she had slipped between his fingers. When she became one half of Jack the Ripper. When he had nearly lost her, permanently. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Now, she was gone again, and the child they both had grown to love with her. There were no cups of tea, no breathy laughs, no secret smiles. No dinners after work, no theatre on their days off. No. Nothing. Just him, left behind, as always. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>There had been no sign of them, no hide nor hair. For four days, they had simply disappeared, evaporating into the ether. Into starlight, into oblivion. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He crumbled. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>There was no wall this time, no one to brush away his tears. No one to calm him, to whisper sweet words to him. No one to stop him from jumping again. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>No one.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Gasping, William pulled himself back. A trip down the cliff would only leave him in pain, or worse. He knew, too damned well, of Reapers that had attempted suicide for a second time. A third, sometimes. They broke themselves down until there was nothing left of them, nothing left to put back together--</span>
  <em>
    <span>yet they still existed.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Broken, shattered, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>there. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Conscious whispers upon the wind, screaming without breath, without lungs. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Maybe that would be a better fate.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Maybe. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He took off his glasses, putting them into his pocket. He pressed his palms into his eyes, trying to push the tears back. Trying to stop himself from falling to ash. People thought him cold, crisp. Yet, if he was ice, he was melting, breaking. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Family. He had been so close, so close to holding something to himself. Something tangible, loving. Now, they could be gone, gone forever, and he had no idea where to look for them. The director was breathing down his neck, threatening him. Screaming at him for having kept them close to him, screaming for every misstep, every second he spent with them. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>I want to jump.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
  <span>William, shivering, stared down the side of the cliff. It was blurry and worn, washed out like a stain of ink against a grey page. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“What am I, without you,” he whispered. “Who am I, without you?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The wind answered, blowing against his back, beckoning him. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <b>
    <em>‘Ah, by no wind those clouds are driven</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>That rustle through the unquiet Heaven</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Uneasily, from morn till even,</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Over the violets there that lie</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>In myriad types of the human eye --</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Over the lilies there that wave</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>And weep above a nameless grave!’</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>William stepped to the edge of the cliff. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he stepped off. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Wings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
  <span>Eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>A Reaper’s eyes were ever green, tinted with neon yellow. They glistened and glowed, howling out death and decay while attempting to falsify life. They could see, but only with the aid of glasses, specially made to magnify what they could not naturally behold. Eventually, they tended to grow cold, unmoving, uncaring. Some died, truly, and that was reflected in those venomous eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The eyes of a demon varied in hue, especially when they took on a human guise. Brown, blue, grey, green--they could take on the color of anything, whatever the demon wished to appear as. However, when their power bloomed within them, the color would always--always--shift to crimson, to the color of blood, of passion and humanity, anger and war. That red would glow, shimmering like garnets so sharp they could cut the world in half. They were alive, but alive in such a way that no human could understand. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>These were the kinds of eyes that William awoke to, instead of the neon green he was so accustomed to. There was pain in his neck, in his head, humming and thudding hard against his brain and spine. Shocks of white, of blinding yellow, thrust themselves through him, into him--yet he was surrounded by those red, shining orbs of demonic origin. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“S-Sebastian?” he asked, wheezing out through his pain. He groaned, softly, wanting to move, to force the pain out of him. It was there, though, trapped. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You were rather stupid to jump. What were you thinking?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>William huffed, squeezing his eyes shut once more. “I suppose I wasn’t. Some things linger. I wanted to die, again. I wanted it to be permanent this time.” He shivered, the movement bringing another jolt of suffering. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“And why is that?” Sebastian’s voice asked, smooth and soft. The careful sound of liquid being poured into a cup filtered through the pain. Calming. Tea. Yes. These were things the Reaper knew. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Instead of answering the question, William pressed another into the air. “How did you find me?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Mm,” Sebastian offered. “I did not. Someone else did.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Then how is it that I am in your care?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“We brought you to him,” a voice, soft, young, said gently, to his right. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>William jerked, the surprise throwing him into confusion and another fresh bout of pain. Stars flooded his vision, twinkling in swirls of red and yellow flashes. “Emma?” he gasped out, through the torture. “I heard Emma’s voice--”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“It’s alright, love. We’re both here. You...you didn’t do this because of us, did you?” Grelle’s voice called out from another corner of the room. William turned to look, but his vision was still wrong, still filled with flashes of heat and torn pain. “Stop moving about so! You broke your neck and then some. It will take time to heal--”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Where have the two of you been?!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>William shouted, driving forward all of his rage, and sorrow, worry and fear. He was crying, the tears falling from his eyes unabashedly. “I could not find you, either of you--no trace, no notes, nothing! There weren’t any unaccounted for deaths--I thought--I thought--”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Sebastian gently put his hand on William’s chest, forcing the Reaper into silence. “They made a choice, William. One that I had offered you, in the past--”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>No--”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>“--and one that I would be willing to offer you again.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>William screamed. He thrashed, there, on that demon’s bed, screaming and raging, his hands tearing at whatever he could hold. Broken neck or not, he could feel a different sort of crumbling. A different sort of pain. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“You could have been redeemed--” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he roared. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“We could have had a chance!” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>It was Emma that spoke next, moving to William’s side, even as he raged. It was terrifying to witness; a man so cold and calm acting as a trapped lion, as a bird with wings all torn up and broken. She pressed her hand against his forehead--skin on skin, for the first time--and breathed. Just...breathed. Breathed him in, his scent, his fear. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“...I never knew my father,” she said, finally, after he had calmed himself enough to be able to see her. Her eyes, once green, now as red as a rose bloom. There was a paleness to her, a different sort of gold to her hair. There was an unearthly beauty now, erasing whatever humanity had been left upon the girl. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>William had to squeeze his eyes shut again. She was tainted, gone from him. A demon in the form of a child. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>She was no longer his Emma.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Yet--</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“My mother raised me. Well. Raised is probably a poor word choice.” She sat beside him, gently, her fingers still caressing his skin. There was a thin sheen of sweat from his pain, from the fever he held now, from his broken form. “You know what she put me through, William. You and Grelle--you didn’t see me as wrong, though. Neither of you saw me as a whore. As what she had turned me into. What she had stolen from me.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Why--” William croaked as fresh tears formed, rolling down his cheeks and catching at the corners of his mouth. He could taste them, salty and cold. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Emma continued, gently, her hand warm on his brow. “I was only a Reaper for a short time, but...I found my family. You, and Grelle--you became my everything. I wanted more, for both of you. I wanted freedom. I wanted you both to see what the world could be like, outside of the rules and roles we’d been forced into.” She drew a breath. “You and I both know that redemption is just a carrot on a stick, and we were the stupid asses to chase after it. There is no light at the end of the tunnel for a Grim Reaper. We were damned, William. Damned for eternity, just playing out the game until we broke again. Until we shattered.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>William opened his mouth to argue, to scream, to rally against her--but he could find no words to say. Everything was falling away from him.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>After a bout of silence, he managed to rasp out, “So you threw everything away to become...to become this. A demon. A monster.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“...is that what you think of me, now? You think I’m a monster for wanting freedom?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“...No,” William admitted, tears stinging his eyes anew. “I cannot blame you for seeking out some kind of...of escape.” He turned his head just so, even though it brought fresh pain, and kissed her palm. She brushed her thumb against his eyes, wiping away his tears. “I had just hoped to know you, longer, than I have.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>She chuckled. “You will.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“We are at war, now,” William whispered. “You have become something...something I cannot--”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Grelle spoke up then, moving forward with grace and ease as she grinned that shark-toothed smile of hers. “Well. You could always look the other way, if that’s how you feel.” Her eyes, now as ruby red as her hair and shining like the most beautiful fire, flicked toward Sebastian. “There is, however, another choice.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“These two ladies care very deeply for you, William,” Sebastian uttered with the feather suggestion of a chuckle. He finally let a sigh, sitting down on the bed beside Emma so that he, too, could stroke William’s forehead. He leaned over the man, their lips dangerously close to touching. “As do I. I have come to realize that. I have asked you before--far too many times to count, now. Yet, I will ask again. William T. Spears--will you fall? Will you allow me to take you to my side?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He kissed him, then, tenderly and passionately, but with such a longing and sweetness that it made William gasp. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“William--I love you. I want you to be happy--all three of us do.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He was, again, falling--but there would be no sudden stop at the end. There was love here, surrounding him, in his little found family. He was drowning in it, gasping, as he was tumbled about. He had to fight--fight for air, for sanity--</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>They were all sinners. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He was to be punished for his sins--but were they really sins? He had needed love, and help, but found only the harsh velocity of death. Now, beyond that, he had found what he needed all along! Yet--yet. They were asking him to give up on everything he knew. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>They were asking him to jump.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I...I need--” he gasped. “Don’t do this to me--” He gnashed his teeth. “I need--I need time.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Ah,” Sebastian whispered. He pulled away from William, leaving the Reaper feeling cold. “Time is something we all have, in droves. Very well. We will not pressure you into this. After all, one must decide, freely. Just know that the offer is here, for you, William.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Emma pressed her fingers against his cheek. “No matter what you decide, I will love you, father.” She smiled, weakly, red eyes gleaming with tears. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“We all will.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“We all will.” </span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>‘And thus thy memory is to me</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>         Like some enchanted far-off isle</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>     In some tumultuos sea—</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>     Some ocean throbbing far and free</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>         With storms—but where meanwhile</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>     Serenest skies continually</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>         Just o’re that one bright island smile.’</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  
  <span>They were his family. He felt a hitch in his chest, something breaking. It was not something bad, something terrible. No. It was like the ivory shell of an egg, cracking around him, inside of him, as he was begging to be born anew. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Yet--</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Yet. He needed time. Time to process, to think, to figure out this world that they were asking him to emerge into. If he was going to jump, again--yes. He would need to make sure that he would not fall.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>‘And all my days are trances,</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>         And all my nightly dreams</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>     Are where thy dark eye glances,</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>         And where thy footstep gleams—</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>     In what ethereal dances,</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>         By what eternal streams.’</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He had to make sure he could fly, with them, across the placid sky. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Run</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
  <span>“Where on Earth--or otherwise--have you been, Spears?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>William froze. He turned his head, just enough, to see the director hovering outside of the office door. The man had a horrible look upon his face, akin to a rabid bulldog. With eyes the color of spring, forever frozen, the man pushed his way into the room. William said nothing, going back to his paperwork. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You were gone for nearly a week! There’s still no sign of those two, either--am I to assume you went looking for them?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Silence.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Spears!” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Finally, William put down his pen. He looked at the director, at this man he loathed. There, he had thought it, finally--he hated this man. He hated him with a burning fire that rocked in his gut, tilting this way and that when he breathed. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I needed time,” was all that the Reaper would offer before going back to his duties. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“We don’t get time off--not like that. I thought you, of all people, would know that!” The director huffed and puffed. When no further response arose from William, he leaned down and grabbed the man’s tie. “Is this going to be like the Ripper incident?”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Calmly, William pulled himself away from the man’s grasp. “Not at all,” he said, finally, and stood. He was a head taller than the director, something that had never given him much comfort before. Now? Now, he felt like he could stare down at the man from upon high; he could finally watch the other man squirm like the pinned worm he was. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“G-good,” the director mumbled. “Just...just keep your head straight, Spears. You are on thin ice as it is.” He beat a hasty retreat after that, cheeks flushed and a line of sweat upon his brow and upper lip. William watched him leave, the door slamming shut behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Why do I stay?</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Because there might still be a chance,” he answered himself as he settled back into his chair. “Because I might not be lost yet.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>Aren’t you, though?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>It took a moment for him to realize he was biting down on his bottom lip. It wasn’t until the crimson droplets of blood fell onto his work that he unclenched his jaw and released himself from the grasp of his teeth. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The office was quieter without Grelle, without Emma. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He did not like the silence. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Time passed, as it always did. Minutes into hours, hours into days, days into weeks, then months, until an entire year had passed. For him, it was but a breath, a blink. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He still had no answer. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>When he arrived at the Phantomhive manor, he found himself feeling ill. They would expect a yes or a no, soon. He had no idea how much longer they would wait for him--if they could. If they would give him more time, or if they were too far gone into what they were to care any longer. Did demons feel love, truly? Was he only fooling himself--had they become monsters?</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Well, at least he knew that Sebastian hadn’t changed. That damnable man was </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> a monster. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <b>
    <em>        ‘I have no time to dote or dream:</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>     You call it hope—that fire of fire!</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>     It is but agony of desire’</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>Ciel had allowed William permission to enter the estate, provided he did so through the front door, and brought with him no weapon. That was a fool’s request, and they both knew it--a Reaper’s scythe could be summoned from nothing at a moment’s notice. Still, William was a man of his word, at least in that, and arrived empty handed. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He found them, the Earl included, in one of the many rooms. There were far too many to count, and he had never remembered what any of them were for. It seemed to him that they could be rearranged upon a whim to become anything the Earl wanted them to be. At any rate, there was a table in the middle of this room, with plush couches and chairs around. Emma sat in one of the seats at the table, Ciel opposite of her, the two of them playing chess. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Ever dutiful, Sebastian stood to the side, watching, commenting on occasion, and refilling the young Earl’s cup with sweetened tea. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>A splash of red by the window suggested Grelle, lounging by herself in a window seat, her long legs crossed just so as she paged through some juice romance novel. Honestly, she looked bored; her eyes lit up like fire when she noticed William’s entrance. “Will!” she cried, and tackled him to the floor with a laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Despite himself, he smiled. “Sutcliff,” he mumbled, gently pushing her off as they both stood. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“It’s been some time,” she said, hands on her hips. “It’s not polite to make us wait!” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Emma looked up, offering a quick smile, then returned to her game with Ciel. One hand hovered over a pawn. Finally, she moved it with a swift motion. “Like that?” she asked, taking one of Ciel’s pieces. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The young Earl smiled slightly--well. Perhaps not a smile, but it certainly wasn’t his ever present frown. “Exactly like that. You have skill when you apply it, Miss Emma.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Thank you.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>William cocked an eyebrow at that, looking to Grelle for an answer. The redhead giggled, shrugging her shoulders just enough. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I don’t think Emma has ever had someone her own age to speak with, and the brat-boy is certainly polite enough to entertain her,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>her eyes said silently. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Odd, William thought, that those crimson eyes could still speak volumes to him. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>“...I would rather she kept better company,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>William mumbled back with a look, his frown reaching up into the green of his eyes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Nothing good will come of this.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>“You’re being overprotective, love. He’s...he’s not as bad as all of that, really. He’s hurting, too. Just like us.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Grelle glanced at Ciel for a moment, watching him as he talked Emma through a few moves. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“He could have just as easily ended up like her, you know--or she, like him.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Sebastian watched the two of them, one eyebrow raised. He was not sure what was happening, but the way that William and Grelle stared at each other and made slight motions was bothering him. “Are you two...speaking?” They both jumped at this, looking to him, Grelle sheepish and William with a frown that bordered on a pout. “Ah. My apologies.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Mum and dad have known each other long enough to communicate without speaking,” Emma said quickly from her seat, using a knight to take a rook. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>William felt his cheeks darken, but he said nothing in response. It was true, after all. He had known Grelle longer than anyone else, in this life or his last. Or the next. He looked at her and sighed. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I never thought I would be envious of someone such as yourself, Miss Grelle,” Sebastian chuckled lightly. He grinned with impish delight as he watched William’s cheeks redden more. “Ah. That is a good look for you, dear William.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Are you all quite done?” Ciel snapped. “I am trying to teach Miss Emma how to play--” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Checkmate!” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“What--!”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Emma grinned, her ruby eyes gleaming, as she held up the king’s piece from Ciel’s side of the board. Pride flooded her face. “Dad, look, I beat him!” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>William softened, finding it in him to laugh, just so. “Good job,” he said, beaming. “Reset the board. I want to watch the next game.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>And so, days passed into weeks, again, and into months. William found himself stealing away, even during working hours, to spend time with his little family. Even Ciel was becoming less of a brat and more of a welcome member of it--if only to be something of a distant cousin to Emma. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Then.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Then, it all broke apart, one day, when the director stormed into his office. William was just about to leave, coat in hand. He looked up, noting the man--with three others behind him, Ronald included, looking bothered. “What is wrong?” William asked, tone clipped, cold. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>They had their Death Scythes in hand--and all of them were pointed in his direction. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>With a huff, the director stared daggers at William, his scythe’s blade yearning to find purchase. “We have proof, Spears.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Like a punch to the gut, William felt the floor fall out from beneath him. Still, he remained composed as he lifted his chin. “Of what, might I ask?” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Boss,” Ronald said, softly, gently. “I’m sorry. You can’t...you can’t get out of this one.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Enough, Knox.” The director sighed. “We have proof that you have been keeping the company of demons--including two that had once been within our own ranks.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>William inclined his head, just so. “Do you, now.” He sighed, eyes closed. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“You are aware of what the punishment is for such crimes.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“I do.”</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Do you deny it, then?” The director’s knuckles were pale white as he gripped his scythe tighter than he had a moment ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>‘Know thou the secret of a spirit</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>         Bow’d from its wild pride into shame.’</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  
  <span>William opened his eyes. “I do not.” He said nothing else, watching the other Grim Reapers in the room stare at him with horror, with awe, with sorrow. They finally gathered themselves, moving toward him, ready to take him by force if needed. He did not flinch, nor did he fight. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Instead, he turned to his ever open window, and jumped. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Catching himself within the Space Between, he turned the world upside down, ripping through the realm and into the world of mortality. With a slight thud, he landed on the streets of London, a wanted man, and ran. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <b>
    <em>   ‘I know—for Death, who comes for me’</em>
  </b>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Hunted</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
  <span>This sucked. This sucked </span>
  <em>
    <span>hard.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>Ronald followed the other Reapers as they disappeared into the Space Between, his death scythe idling along as he searched for the man that had once been a mentor and boss to him. Now? Now William T. Spears had fallen from grace, and was nothing more than a turn-coat that the district director wanted on a silver platter.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>The worst thing about it was that the blond couldn’t exactly blame William. It seemed that the stuffy, cold man had found some sliver of happiness. Who was he to judge if William was going to grab hold of it and never let go, no matter how low it dragged him? Men had raged wars over worse; men had murdered over better. Seemed to the younger Reaper that William was simply living--something most of them had forgotten to do. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>So, was this twist of the knife the man’s redemption? </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He huffed, blowing some unruly hair out of his face. He had to pause for a few moments, get his bearings. London. London, with its streets all dirty and its buildings so sad. A dreary place for dreary souls to live out their dreary little lives. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Ronald sighed, leaning up against one of the walls. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>It wouldn’t have happened if William had been smarter about it,</span>
  </em>
  <span> the blond thought has he lit a cigarette. No. The man came into the office reeking of demonic smells and energy. That was his first mistake. The second was the little, faraway look in his eyes, the way he fiddled with his glasses as they lay on his desk instead of on his face. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>At first, the director assumed William was a flight risk, that he would desert any day. Then the sickly sweet scent of a demon grew stronger, until it became knowledge that it wasn’t one demon--it was three. The director called for someone to follow--someone who had been trained in such things. William had grown lax, and slipped up. The report came back, then; Grelle Sutcliff and Emma Blanke were demons now, living in a manor held by the Earl Phantomhive, along with another demon contracted to the young noble. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>And William was spending time with them. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Breathing out a lungful of smoke, Ronald shook his head. He knew that, if he was the one to come across William now, he would be forced to fight him. He wasn’t really worried about that--though Spears could hold his own, he was not that much of a fighter. Still. A dog backed into a corner would still bite, and the reach on his scythe was nothing to sneeze at. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>There was a sudden burst of movement out of the corner of his eye. Ronald threw his cigarette down and turned, all in one fluid, impossibly graceful motion. His mechanical scythe revved. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Hey, Boss,” he mumbled, watching William straighten up from a crouch. “...ah. Stealth was never your strong suit.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“No,” William said with a frown. “I suppose not.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>They watched each other, neither moving, for some time. Ronald could vaguely hear other Reapers, moving around in the alleyways surrounding them. He took a shuddering breath. “You’d better run,” he said. “I’ll look away, just this once. If I see you again--I’m sorry, Boss, but I’ll have to...you know.” Pointedly, he looked down at his scythe. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>William’s shoulders relaxed, just a touch. “Thank you, Ronald. I am in your debt.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>“Yeah, well. Remember that.” The blonde turned his back on the other man, waving his hand in the air. “Well. Go.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>When he turned back to make sure William had moved, the other man was gone. Ronald released his breath, shaking his head. “Good-bye, Boss. Fly high.” </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Upon realizing that the Reapers would be looking for him on the ground, William took to the rooftops. It was a gamble; should any of them look up, he would be spotted in an instant. It didn’t matter, though. He had to get to the Phantomhive Manor. He had to find Sebastian, and beg for his help--</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>--and accept the offer he had been given multiple times. There was no doubt in his mind, now. He knew where he belonged, and with whom. He had a family, people that he loved more than himself, more than the vague thought of redemption. He loved them more than the promise of Heaven. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>For them, he would slay God and rattle the Devil--No. He would become the Devil himself, falling into the pits of Hell to rise up flame and sulfur, to bring pain and suffering to those who deserved it. To those who were like Emma’s biological family, like the men who had paid for her. Like the bastards who had driven her to suicide.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Like the monsters of the church who had punished Grelle for being born in a body that betrayed her, again and again, during her own short life. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Like his own father, who had beaten him bloody if he dared to have a thought of his own.</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>Like so many sinners--the real sinners--who fed with pleasure off of the pain of those who were different. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>William’s eyes opened, red and screaming. He did not need Sebastian to help him in being damned. He could do it, all on his own. It wasn’t falling, no. It was flying. This was his redemption. </span>
</p><p>
  
  <em>
    <span>His family was his redemption. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>For the first time in his existence, William’s soul sang with a purity, with a light, that could burn the world if he so wished. He was not darkness, even now, demonic and whole; he was the sun itself, shining and full of </span>
  <em>
    <span>life. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
  <span>He flew, and flew--</span>
</p><p>
  
  <span>--and he would fall, </span>
  <b>
    <em>‘Nevermore.’</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Ending</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>    Emma flinched. </p><p>    She sat at the window, in what had become Grelle’s usual spot. Looking out over the grounds of Ciel’s home, she could feel a shadow pass over the light of the sun. Wait--no. It was not a shadow. It was a light, so bright and burning that it dimmed the sun itself. It was a light she knew, even when it had been dimmed and shackled. </p><p>    A grin split her face as she threw open the window. “Dad!” she shouted, voice carrying on the wind as the sun, ashamed, died completely. There was a gust of air, sweet and full of spice, and the rush of wings made up of nothing more than light itself and feathers of flame. </p><p>    William’s feet touched the windowsill, and he leaned into the room, gasping. His eyes burned, brighter than the sun could ever hope to. Brighter than anything in existence. </p><p>    She took him into her arms, sobbing happily into him. </p><p>    There came a rattle from behind them, bringing William to look up. Sebastian stood in the doorway, Ciel with him, both of them staring at him with gaping mouths. Grelle followed shortly there after, lips parted just so. </p><p>    “We need to leave,” William breathed. The light--his light--dimmed so that everyone else could see. “The entirety of the London Division is after me, I am afraid.” </p><p>    Sebastian snorted, though there was a sly smile on his face. “Honestly,” he mumbled, shaking his head at William. “You have to outshine the sun?” </p><p>    “It isn’t doing its job properly,” William said, a tight-lipped smile upon his own face. His glasses had fallen off at some point during his flight, the frames and lenses shattered against the cobblestones of London’s grimy streets. He did not need them any longer, and never again would. </p><p>    Emma squeezed him around the middle. “Where will we go?” </p><p>    For an answer, Ciel tapped his cane against the floorboards. “Very well. How long until you believe they will come here to look?” </p><p>    “Soon,” William said.</p><p>    “Then we have that time to gather up what we need. Sebastian, this is an order--you will package up what we need, and prepare for us to leave London.” </p><p>    “Wait--you--” Grelle started, peering down at the boy noble. She glanced at Sebastian, seeing his smile. “Mm. I suppose that’s alright, then.” </p><p>    Ciel tapped his cane against her heeled boots. “I have money, which we will need. If I remember correctly, Miss Sutcliff, you haven’t a penny to your name any longer. Besides. Sebastian is going to want to go with Mr. Spears--and I go with Sebastian.” He shot a look at Emma. “And Miss Emma will follow all of you. I’ve grown rather fond of our daily chess matches.” </p><p>    Grelle sighed. She touched his shoulder, finding herself pleased when he did not move out of her grasp. Enemies, once. Family, now. She smiled. “Very well. Bassy, let me help you, hm? Two demons are better than one.” </p><p>    “Good thinking, Miss Sutcliff.” </p><p>    “I will get a few things in order myself,” Ciel mumbled. He checked his pocket watch, then nodded to Sebastian. “Go. I have an idea as to where we can go. Mr. Spears--what is the American division of the Dispatch Society like?” </p><p>    William chuckled. “They are rather lax,” he admitted. “Grelle had been offered a position among them, in management.” He looked at her as she swept out of the room, her hand waving. “She declined, because she was afraid to leave me to my own devices.” </p><p>    “Ah. It would seem that she is a bit smarter than I gave her credit for. Very well. To America, then.” </p><p>    “To America.” </p><p>    Emma squeezed William again. They were alone, soon enough, both taking the other in. In her, he had found a daughter, a piece of himself that had been missing. And she, in him, had found a father, a family, and the love she had been denied for her life. </p><p>    Now, demonic, she looked up at him with a smile, and with no <b> <em>Death Upon Her Eyes.</em> </b></p><p><b>  </b> This, truly, was Heaven. His Heaven. Their Heaven.</p><p> </p>
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